


It Might Interest You to Know

by aliatori



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sharing a Bed, soft!Gladio, the tag page would be 7 million miles long if I tagged every ficlet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-26 07:43:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 13,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13231137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori/pseuds/aliatori
Summary: A series of various and unrelated ficlets, to be updated as inspiration strikes.  Tags and ratings will change as additional chapters are added.Most recent:"First time" - Cor/Aranea, E rated





	1. Responsibilities - OT4

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of FFXV ficlets that don't quite fit in my other works/series. Tags/rating will be updated as necessary.

Captain Amicitia wasn’t usually the one on fetch and retrieve duty, but he had a feeling he knew what the hold up was today, so he decided to volunteer.

Gladio’s boots thudded against the marble steps as he ascended to the king’s chambers, pulling an antique key from his inner jacket pocket and unlocking the heavy doors. He pushed the doors open and made sure that they closed all the way behind him before he surveyed the scenario.

Sure enough, he found Noct and Ignis curled up in the gigantic bed together. They were awake, at least, bodies shifting under silken sheets and making Gladio wish _very badly_ that he didn’t have a thousand things to do today.

“Your Highness. Advisor,” Gladio said curtly, giving a bow that somehow managed to be sarcastic in its execution.

“Mornin’, Gladio,” Noct said, stretching his arms above his head and yawning. Gladio watched as Ignis wound an arm around Noct’s waist and shifted to be closer to him, the royal strategist clearly in no hurry to be elsewhere for the time being.

“I can’t believe I’m the one saying this, but you have a meeting with the Tenebraen delegation in…” he paused to check the time on his phone, “An hour. And you know how pissy Ravus gets when you make him wait,” Gladio said.

“What’s the point of being king if you can’t enjoy the perks once in a while? They can wait,” Noct drawled. As if to emphasize his point, he lowered his head to Ignis’s neck and placed a series of open mouthed kisses there that made Gladio clench his jaw.

Tearing his eyes away from the sight of Noct’s tongue flicking against Iggy’s pulse, Gladio noted the suspicious absence of one freckled blonde from the bed. “Where’s Prom?” he asked.

“Showering. Just got back from his run,” Noct murmured, his hands disappearing beneath the sheets and drawing a noise from Ignis that should be illegal on a morning when Gladio _absolutely positively could not be late._

“Well, one outta three ain’t bad, I guess,” the Captain said, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Iggy… c’mon. I know you don’t wanna spend the day soothing a bunch of ruffled feathers?” Gladio asked hopefully, trying to appeal to his more responsible boyfriend’s sensibility.

Ignis’s response was to slide the sheets down his body until the full, lithe, muscular length of it was exposed. And, Gladio noted with no small amount of frustration, certain parts of him were ready for activities that had nothing to do with diplomatic discussions.

“If you’d like to join us, I’m certain we could make haste,” Ignis purred.

He had fully intended to come in the room and be a hard ass and drag the two (or three, he hadn’t been sure) of them out of bed. He was a strong man, damn it. But Ignis had his number, he had for years, and Gladio felt his resolve waver.

Gladio crossed the room and stood beside the right side of the bed where Noctis and Ignis currently lay. He crooked a finger at Noct who, in what Gladio thought to be a small miracle, actually heeded and sat up. Gladio lowered his face to Noct’s and kissed him none too gently, biting Noct’s lower lip and fisting a rough hand in his hair for good measure. The small whimper Noct gave made Gladio doubt that the king considered it any kind of punishment.

When they broke apart, Gladio fixed a stern look on Noct. “You’re real lucky I love you, even if you are the King, because I am highly fuckin’ annoyed right now.” Noct did not look chagrined, not in the slightest. The Shield turned to Ignis and had to make an effort to keep his gaze on the Advisor’s face. “Same goes for you. Not the king part, but the rest,” Gladio added, a bit softer.

Ignis was already waiting with his face upturned, green-blue eyes misty and unfocused. Gladio kissed Ignis too, the act as familiar as breathing, a dance of tongue and lip and teeth that made him wish, _again_ , that this wasn’t a day he had somewhere important to be. When Ignis reached a hand up towards Gladio’s hair, Gladio caught his wrist.

“Ah ah ah, none of that. I know your tricks,” Gladio rumbled, and Ignis’s heated laugh was almost enough to make him strip and jump in the bed anyway.

The click of a door shutting behind him made Gladio turn around. Prompto stood nearby, fully dressed in his Kingsglaive uniform with a big grin on his face.

“See? At least _one_ of my boyfriends cares about me,” Gladio said, making sure to sound very put-upon and waving a hand towards Prompto. Before Prompto could react, Gladio strode over to him and swept him up in his arms, one arm around Prompto’s waist and the other cradling his head. The muffled squeak that Prompto gave as Gladio dipped his body down and kissed him, deep and full and rich, was completely worth it.

“Yup. Totally, yeah, the caring part. Uh-huh,” Prompto said, cheeks pink under his freckles but not quite letting go of Gladio either.

“Let’s get going, beautiful. You and I have recruits to train and delegates to distract because some people,” Gladio turned his head over his shoulder and shot a glare in Noct’s and Ignis’s direction, “Have better things to do.”

The two men had already sank back onto the bed, locked in an embrace that made Gladio pleased to be strapped so tightly in his uniform, because _Astrals_ , it was a sight to behold and he wished that he could be in the middle of it. 

“Typical,” Gladio said, turning his back on the two, but not before holding back a groan that would have been very unbecoming from the Captain of the Crownsguard. “I’ll cover for you as long as I can.”

As he and Prompto left the room together, he couldn’t help a tiny smile. He would be _sure_ to pay them back later.


	2. Let Me Say Goodbye - Gladnis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis keeps his king, but the Crystal will have its due.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very heavy angst including character death - please feel free to skip this one if that's not your thing.

Ignis engages in a stand-off with the massive, aureate doors of the temple adjacent to the Citadel. He knows he’s holding up the proceedings, that he asked for this time alone before the ceremony begins in earnest, but he dallies all the same. Dally isn’t quite the correct word, as it implies happiness, flirtation, smiles. Tarry? Close—it rhymes, and it has the same syrupy feeling in his mind and on his tongue as his grief does.

He places one hand on the door handle. That simple action is enough to wrest a few tears from his eyes. They trickle down a familiar path along his cheekbones and drip off his chin. Ignis resigns himself to the fact he may never be free of tears again, because if he hasn’t withered his tear ducts on their circulatory vines by now, he never will. He’s given up washing his pillowcases and leaves them to stain. Ignis used to be exacting in his laundry schedule, but now it’s one more task that’s fallen by the wayside; it was Gladio drooling all over their pillowcases that necessitated the habit in the first place.

Ignis’s breath hitches in his throat. He can’t breathe, and he can’t do this. He turns on a booted heel and makes it seven steps away from the temple doors.

Ignis _has_ to do this. If there’s any chance at accepting what’s happened, it’s behind that foreboding obsidian gateway. He knows what awaits him. How could Ignis forget? His grief consumes him like a flesh-eating parasite, feeding on itself in infinite necrotic loops, and shows no signs of slowing.

Ignis racks his brain for mathematical equations, starts performing the mental gymnastics of differential calculus, an old trick for keeping his composure. Ignis’s love for math and his love of a solid, inarguable solution have always been closely married.

Married. Unsafe territory, Ignis thinks, a white bird leading to a gingerbread house where the rest of him will be eaten whole. Math is safe. Easy.

Ignis makes it back to the doors and pushes them open. His eyes glide over the decorated altar at the rear of the temple, erasing its presence like pixels consumed by a glitch on a monitor. He’s pleased to see that while the building has been thoroughly cleaned and aired—it smells of a spring breeze with the faintest earthy hint of dust—there are few decorations. He thinks there might be a tasteful spray of gladiolus flowers at the front, near the gigantic marble rectangle his brain refuses to correctly interpret. He’s not certain.

One step after the other, Ignis begins to walk down the centre aisle, to the altar that exudes a pull so strong it feels like gravity has shifted. He wishes he could keep his head up, face this challenge as he’s faced so many others, but he can’t. Ignis keeps his eyes downcast on the black and silver aisle runner. One step after the other.

It wasn’t supposed to end this way. They’d challenged fate, they’d _beaten_ fate, laughed in the face of prophecy and kept their Chosen King.

But the Crystal would have its due. The Crystal _took_ its due.

Ignis closes his eyes as he ascends the steps at the end of the aisle. He knows when he opens them, it will be as though the Tidemother herself spawned a whirlpool beneath his feet, and he’s not ready to drown. His fingers find the edges of the marble and trace the patterns carved in it. A burial fit for a King.

Or his Shield.

Ignis sighs, his breath hiccuping in the middle, and opens his eyes.

His first thought is utterly absurd, absurd enough to draw a peal of manic laughter from Ignis. They gave him his sword, but they’ve put Gladio in a suit of all things. Ignis laughs again, high and disbelieving. Anyone who knew Gladio for more than 48 nanoseconds learned of his predilection for wearing as little clothing as possible. _Astrals_ , Ignis remembers begging Gladio to wear a dress shirt to their own wedding; he ended up having to promise a week’s worth of homemade ramen on top of the begging for Gladio to relent.

Of course, Ignis had been barricaded in his apartment instead of helping with the funeral arrangements, smashing every non-sentimental object in sight as he worked through the anger stage of his grief. He had six degrees, including one in psychology, and his intellect liked to crop up at the most inconvenient times to remind him that his experiences were thoroughly documented and predictable.

He’d trade all the degrees in a heartbeat if it would bring Gladio back; he trade everything. Bargaining, his brain helpfully supplies, as if Ignis weren’t already well aware.

Ignis reaches out and brushes a trembling hand against Gladio’s temple, and he’s not sure if it’s bile or grief that rises in his throat. Despite how cold and still he is, his hair feels the same under his fingers, soft and brushed back from his scarred face. Tears stream down Ignis’s face like the condensation from stalactites in Greyshire Grotto, or like the faucet in the cramped Lestallum apartment he and Gladio shared during the years of darkness.

He knows he doesn’t have long before he’s overwhelmed; always a tactician, always planning, even when it’s planning on how to say goodbye to a husband that left him behind.

“Oh, _Gladio_ ,” Ignis starts. He stops immediately, chokes on the flood of tears and mucus that his bereavement extorts from him. A few shaky breaths later, he musters the ability to speak again, though his voice is thick from weeping.

“I had always hoped to see you with grey hair one day,” Ignis says, his hand stuttering across Gladio’s hair, “It would have suited you, though I’ve yet to think of anything that didn’t suit you. I like to imagine you with your hair pulled back, grey at the temples, wearing a pair of reading glasses you desperately needed, curled up with a book on our balcony in the morning light.”

“You were fond of joking that between Noctis and I, you’d be driven grey prematurely. My response was always that if anyone would sprout grey hairs because of Noctis, it was me.”

Ignis pauses to run his knuckles across Gladio’s cheek. Skin that was so warm in life feels waxy beneath Ignis’s skin, but he can’t help himself all the same.

“Ever since we were teenagers, even though I knew you understood, you’d harass me about the minutiae of my devotion to Noctis. And after Altissia, after the ring…” Ignis draws in a long, ragged gasp of a breath, “It was the first real fight we had. You were so angry with me for putting my life on the line. I thought you’d never forgive me.”

“But you did forgive me. You’ve always been my strength. You were the one who kept me from losing myself when Noct went into the crystal, the one who encouraged me to find something new to devote myself to once Noct had gone.”

Ignis’s chokes back a sob. His voice teeters dangerously when he speaks again.

“It was _you_ , you senseless idiot. I was devoted to _you_. I loved you so much, and I still love you, and I’m always going to love you.”

A flicker of anger roars into a flame beneath the massive concrete bricks of sorrow around Ignis’s heart.

“But I am so impossibly furious with you that it makes me sick. You did the same Gods damned thing you berated me for. You sacrificed your life and I had to watch you die. I held you in my arms as you drew your last breath, your blood soaking through my uniform, my name the last thing on your _fucking_ lips.” 

Ignis inhales with a shudder, bracing himself on the stone edges of the casket for support, tears soaking his glasses and falling on Gladio’s suit. “You threw our entire life away, but I hate myself for being angry, because even though it’s destroying me, I understand why you did it. You’ve always been a man of your word.”

He unravels at the seams. It’s too much. He knew he would drown and here he is, drowning. He suffocates without Gladio to breathe life and love into him. Ignis wants nothing more than to crawl in the casket and be buried with Gladio. Dying would be easier than attempting to bear this pain.

Ignis takes the simple gold band from his left hand with clumsy fingers. He places it in Gladio’s open palm and lowers his lips to Gladio’s forehead. A litany of mourning bubbles from Ignis’s lips.

“I love you, Gladiolus, I love you, please come back to me, _please come back_ , I don’t want to do this without you, _I can’t live without you_ , please…”

Ignis slides to the floor in front of the casket, body heaving with the force of his sobs. A distant part of him registers Noctis and Prompto lifting him up and leading him out of the temple, but it doesn’t matter.

He left his heart behind.


	3. Restless - Gladnis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Worn down and exhausted, Ignis tires of pretending he doesn't have feelings for Gladio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real talk, this is absolutely a self-indulgent Gladnis bedsharing fic written for the lovely [Ginia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginia/pseuds/Ginia). For actual quality Gladnis writing, check Ginia out.

Ignis slides the key into the motel room door, opens it, and stops in his tracks when he catches sight of the single bed. Gladio has enough presence of mind not to barrel into him, but he makes a disgruntled noise when he sees the bed.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Iggy. Thought I grabbed the key for the room with two beds. Want me to try and get Princess and company to swap?”

 _Yes_ , Ignis thinks, he very much would. He’s so exhausted that another sleepless night spent too aware of Gladio’s presence will start to severely diminish his competency. Ignis teeters on the edge of ineffectiveness already; today he took an easily avoidable wound from a Saberclaw, savage horns gouging him from belly to thigh, and wasted a precious elixir to boot to avoid bleeding out.

“Don’t trouble yourself. Besides, I’m certain Noctis and Prompto are entrenched in King’s Knight and junk food already. Best to leave them to it.”

This is what Ignis actually says, because as much as he’s dreading his midnight vigil, he’d rather endure his pointless wanting. The alternative of spending the night alone in a dilapidated motel bed in a run down settlement, wrapped in fusty, scratchy sheets, rich in rest but impoverished by the lack of Gladio’s warmth… Ignis doesn’t know if he can bear it. Not tonight.

Ignis realizes he’s still blocking the door, steps forward and aside to allow Gladio to enter, and turns around to lock the door behind him. At least this establishment—if one can apply the word—has locking doors.

“You sure? We leave ‘em to it, might mean more trouble than usual trying to drag them out of bed tomorrow,” Gladio asks.

Ignis waves a dismissive hand, winces as he shifts his weight to his wounded flank. Elixir or no, the injury feels stiff after a long and stationary drive in the Regalia. Gladio, bless and damn him both, has two broad hands supporting him before he can take another step.

“Hey, hey, Iggy… you okay? You ain’t lookin’ so hot,” Gladio says.

Ignis arches a sardonic eyebrow in Gladio’s direction as he tries to ignore the palm braced against his lower back. He knows Gladio’s skin to be comfortably warm, but to Ignis it’s a red-hot brand scalding him through the thin fabric of his dress shirt. Before he succumbs in a moment of weakness to his ever present need for the man beside him, he takes a prim step forward.

Ignis softens the defensive repartee that he readies by instinct. “Yes, Gladio, thank you. As you may suspect, nearly being impaled does put a damper on one’s energy.”

“Hot shower might help if you want first dibs,” Gladio offers, slinging his bag to one side of the bed, the right side, of course. Ignis wishes he didn’t have an assemblage of Gladio’s preferences—down to the most minute, like which side of the bed he prefers to sleep on— engraved amongst his other thoughts, but he does. 

“I believe I would. Thank you,” Ignis says again. He makes an effort to disguise his limp as he makes his way to the tiny washroom, lest Gladio be tempted to offer further assistance.

Once he closes the washroom door behind him, Ignis sags against its cheap wooden surface. Toeing off his shoes at the door had been easy, as is unbuttoning and shrugging off his coeurl print shirt. His slacks take more effort, and the pain of bending at the knees to remove his socks wrenches a groan from him. Mercifully, Gladio says nothing from the other side of the thin door.

Ignis heaves himself over the lid of the tub and starts the shower. Once the water heats a sufficient amount, he braces himself against the tiles and stays there for an indefinite amount of time. The heat soothes the ache from his muscles and the water removes the worst of the travel (and monster) grime from his skin.

A knock on the door brings him back to the present.

“Iggy, for some ass backwards reason the towels are in a closet out here. I got your PJs too, the green ones with the stripes. Want me to leave them inside?” Gladio’s voice is muffled by the door and the shower, but Ignis can still make the words out.

If Gladio could stop being so _kind_ and _attentive_ , this would all be so much easier to deal with. Ignis lets his head loll between his arms as water races down his back, willing his heart to stop its painful thumping against his ribs. The opaque shower curtain will preserve his modesty, but the knowledge of Gladio’s proximity is a harder fact to reconcile.

“Please,” Ignis calls, not trusting himself to add anything else.

He hears the door open and close in short order. With no energy to properly wash—the true testament to his fatigue—Ignis shuts off the water and exits the shower. As promised, a ratty towel and his favourite pajamas rest neat and folded on the corner of the tiny vanity. Ignis flushes when he notes the pair of black boxer briefs tucked between the two; his mind snaps immediately to the image of Gladio handling his underwear, of Gladio handling his underwear while Ignis is still wearing them, and he learns that it’s possible to be aroused and embarrassed at the same time.

Eventually Ignis manages to get dressed and dry. Gladio’s lounging in a threadbare armchair, head resting on one hand and book propped open with the other. He flashes a grin that twists Ignis’s heart inside his chest.

“Hope you didn’t use all the hot water,” Gladio says with a rumble. In typical Gladio fashion, he’s already set down the book and shedding clothing on the way to the small bath, the very concept of modesty absolutely foreign to him.

“You’ll soon find out,” Ignis replies, attempting what he hopes is a cool and careless smirk. He thinks he misses the mark, his focus dedicated to the flashes of Gladio’s tattooed skin and the chiseled lines of his muscles before he disappears from view.

Ignis gives a quiet sigh once he’s sure Gladio’s out of earshot. He’s truly bone-tired, and the hour is late, and his only hope for salvation tonight rests in falling asleep before Gladio comes to bed. He puts his folded dirty clothes beside his own bag, rests his phone and glasses beside him on the chipped end table, and climbs into bed. Once he’s on his back and the covers have been pulled up, he folds his arms over his chest and tries to sleep.

He does, for a time. Ignis succumbs to his physical exhaustion and drifts in and out of dreamless sleep, rising towards but never fully surfacing to consciousness.

Gladio’s considerable weight settling onto the unsteady mattress tears him into wakefulness as surely as an alarm. Ignis keeps his eyes closed as Gladio shifts beside him, clearly trying to minimize his motion and noise to avoid waking Ignis, as though Ignis hasn’t already gone from sleep to hyper-awareness in an instant.

Once Gladio curls on his side away from Ignis, he opens his eyes. Here he is once again, undergoing the torturous experience of pretending complete disinterest in the man he’s hopelessly, inexorably in love with. Gladio’s warmth radiates from him like a barely contained Firaga spell, and Ignis wants so badly to curl up against that warmth, to nestle himself against the firm expanse of Gladio’s body and lose himself in it.

The wanting ache hurts worse than his injury, resonates within him, builds in his chest until he feels he may be brought to tears. No, until he _is_ brought to tears, tears that slip scalding and silent from beneath his eyelids to trickle down his cheeks.

He’s so Gods damn _tired_ , tired of fighting, tired of wanting what he can’t have, tired of empty hours on the road with nothing to do except think about Insomnia in ruins or of the countless ways this road trip can go sideways, tired of indulging himself in selfish thoughts and desires when there are much more important things at stake than his petty feelings. 

“Ignis? You awake?”

The combination of his full name and Gladio’s voice makes his breath hitch, precludes any chance Ignis has of preserving his dignity.

“Would you believe me if I said no?” Ignis asks. He hates the thick and sloppy tremor that his voice gets on the rare occasion that he cries.

Gladio shifts and turns towards Ignis. The harsh fluorescent lights of the motel parking lot stream into their room, providing enough illumination for Ignis to make out Gladio’s bold eyebrows drawn into a frown.

“Okay, _now_ I’m actually worried,” Gladio says, reaching up and rubbing the pad of his thumb against Ignis’s wet cheek. The gesture is careless and intimate and rams against Ignis’s self control like a raging behemoth.

“Gladio, please, I’m perfectly fine. Just tired.” The protest sounds weak even to Ignis.

“Bullshit. C’mon, Iggy, how long have we known each other? You might be able to pull this shit with Noct, maybe, but not with me. Is it your injury? I can...”

“ _Stop._ ” Ignis’s voice cracks like the lash of a whip. His next words are tentative, soft. “Please, I… I can’t. I don’t have the strength to do this tonight.”

“Iggy, I’m not following. Do what?”

He’s tired of fighting this, too. Ignis surrenders to the tenderness laced through Gladio’s question, forces himself to meet Gladio’s amber eyes when he speaks.

“Pretend,” Ignis breathes.

“Ignis…” Gladio starts, shifts on the bed so that he’s a twitch away from being flush against Ignis’s body. “Fuck, if you mean what I think you mean, I don’t think you have to pretend anything. You just have to tell me what you want.”

The answer is simple and complicated and would require his life story to explain. Ignis settles for the shorthand.

“You.”

Gladio brushes Ignis’s damp hair away from his forehead, lets his hand trail down to stroke his cheek. The affection in his eyes steals the breath from Ignis’s lungs all over again. “Can I hold you?” 

Ignis makes a broken noise that’s half whimper and half sob. “Yes, _please_.”

Gentle hands urge Ignis to roll over to his uninjured side, which he does. When Ignis feels Gladio press against the length of his back and drape his arm across his chest, he forgets and relearns how to breathe in the same moment. When he feels chapped lips press against the nape of his neck, he restructures several years worth of fantasies about the sensation of Gladio’s lips on his skin.

“Hey, stop me if anything’s too much, okay?” Gladio says, voice low.

“I don’t believe there’s such a thing as too much when it comes to you,” Ignis admits. He shudders as Gladio trails kisses from the nape of Ignis’s neck to the side of it. Each kiss causes his heart to lurch dangerously in his chest. 

“Gods, Iggy… I wish I’d known sooner.”

“You know now.” Despite the fantastical quality to this situation, Ignis hears the heat in his own voice, notices an echo of that heat climbing up his inner thighs.

The velvety, smothered groan that Gladio gives only stokes the heat further. There’s no way Ignis can fail to notice the hard, hot length of Gladio trapped between them, but thinking about it in such specific terms makes his mind go blank at the edges.

“Sorry,” Gladio murmurs, sliding a hand under Ignis’s shirt and caressing the firm plane of his chest in broad strokes, “Can’t help it. You’re so fucking beautiful and perfect, you know that?”

“So are you. _Gladio_ —” Ignis breaks off as Gladio gently sucks on his neck, the wet pressure sending delicious sparks of pleasure along Ignis’s spine. “I want you, I _need_ you.”

Ignis arches his back as Gladio rolls his nipple between thumb and forefinger, biting back a cry. Gladio’s warmth, his scent, his presence, all of it goes straight to Ignis’s cock despite his fatigue. He’s erect and aching at this point, and for once blissfully free of shame about that fact. His body acts without his conscious direction as he grinds his hips back against Gladio, the cotton of their pajamas barely a barrier. 

“Easy, easy,” Gladio says with a quiet laugh. “Astrals, I want you too, but you need rest. You’re in no condition for the things I’d like to do to you. Or for you to do to me. I’m not choosy.”

Behind the lust that beats in time with his pulse, Ignis knows he’s right. Bliss and endorphins have temporarily smothered his pain, but his injury remains, and the last thing Ignis needs is to aggravate it. He can’t quite bring himself to reply to Gladio.

“If you’re okay with it…” Gladio’s hand grazes down Ignis’s chest, hovers near the soft cotton waistband of his pants, “I can take the edge off, help you sleep, and we can talk about the rest in the morning.”

There’s already a wet spot where Ignis’s cock has leaked through underwear and pajamas alike, but Gladio’s words cause another bead of precome to well up and add to the wetness. Ignis gathers what rationality he has left given the object of his every fantasy is offering to jerk him off.

“Only if you promise this won’t be a singular occurrence,” Ignis says, still too-aware of Gladio’s fingers splayed along his thigh.

“Iggy, you could never be a one time thing for me, never in a million years.”

Ignis bites his lower lip and eases down both pajamas and underwear, just enough to expose his cock. He takes Gladio’s hand in his own shaking one and places it on his length. The groan Gladio gives as he wraps his fingers around Ignis’s shaft will live on his memory for the rest of his mortal existence.

He’s so slick, so keyed up, so full of _want_ that it doesn’t take long for Gladio to bring him to completion. The feel of Gladio’s calloused palm stroking him from root to tip as Gladio holds Ignis tight against his chest, the sound of Gladio’s laboured breathing even though he’s only working Ignis with a single hand, the leather and musk smell of Gladio filling his lungs with every breath, it all builds into a glorious wave.

Ignis's body gives a violent shudder as the wave crests, as he comes all over Gladio’s hand and the sheets with Gladio’s name on his lips, as he winds down shaking and spent in Gladio’s arms. Gladio peppers Ignis’s neck and cheek and hair with kisses, adjusts his pajamas so he’s clothed again, nuzzles his face against Ignis’s shoulder.

Ignis murmurs a blissed out protest when Gladio gets up from the bed, but he returns quickly and scoops Ignis up in his arms again. Being held by Gladio, the feeling of warmth and safety and protection, is far better than anything his imagination has ever conjured. He wishes he could stay awake longer and enjoy it more.

“Gladio?” Ignis asks, fighting off the sleep that follows on the heels of his pleasure and exhaustion.

“Yeah?”

“Perhaps we could start intentionally requesting the room with one bed.”

Gladio laughs. “You might be onto something, Iggy. You might be onto something.”

Ignis sleeps, and dreams, and wakes. In the morning, Gladio’s still by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! <3 If you feel up for it, comments and kudos are always appreciated.


	4. Stay - Gladnoct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis doesn't need to ask for much anymore. He only needs to answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the lovely [@roadsoftrial](http://archiveofourown.org/users/roadsoftrial/pseuds/roadsoftrial) who asked for some soft GladNoct, which I was happy to try and provide.

“Will you stay?”

Ignis mouths the question next to Gladio’s ear, quiet enough to be sure that Noct won’t hear. He’s been curled in a ball on the couch since dinner, silent and sullen, and both Gladio and Ignis know what that means.

“You got that presentation tomorrow morning, yeah? I’ll take care of him.”

Ignis gives thanks by pressing his lips to the back of Gladio’s bare shoulder, right beside the strap of his tank top. Gladio watches as Ignis and Prompto leave the apartment, Ignis’s hand lingering on the small of Prompto’s back; it might have made him jealous, once, but they’re way past that point now.

Gladio crosses the living room to the couch, perches on the edge of the cushions, rests a gentle hand on Noct’s hip. He rubs his thumb in circles around the top of Noct’s jeans and leans in close to him.

“Hey. Talk to me, Princess. What’s going on?”

Noct unburies his face from his arms and rolls his eyes at Gladio, which Gladio considers a good sign. “Don’t call me that.” Noct sighs as he rests his head atop his folded arms again. “Too much thinking today.”

Ignis has organized all of their lives into electronic calendar form, which is how Gladio knows Noct’s been in Council meetings all day and had a early dinner with the King right after. Gladio’s pretty sure it was the dinner that did him in, but he’s not going to pry for details.

“Wanna stop thinking for a while?”

Noct raises his head and blinks at Gladio once, twice, then lifts his arms up towards him. The angle’s a bit awkward at first, but Gladio scoops him up, cradles him close. Gladio cards a hand through Noct’s hair, murmurs wordless comfort, waits. Sometimes it ends here, or close to here—he carries his Prince to bed, makes sure he’s set, and goes home.

But tonight, Noct tips his face up towards Gladio and captures his lips in a kiss, languid and slow. Nights like this aren’t about him, but Gladio puts a little pressure behind the kiss, gently cups the back of Noct’s head to bring him closer. He can’t help wanting Noct—wanting all of them, really. But the prospect of serving the Prince he’s been promised to his whole life with his body has always made Gladio weak in the knees, metaphorically speaking.

“Yeah,” Noct says finally, “I do.”

That’s all Gladio needs. He undresses Noct, spacing out the removal of clothing with a kiss on lips or neck or hair. Gladio feels the least guilty about spoiling him in this way, in this space, since he’s the least likely to do so anywhere else. Iggy and Prom have that covered.

By the time they’re both naked, Noct’s reaching for Gladio again. He whines, a noise which Gladio shouldn’t find sexy but does anyway. Noct’s grown hard from Gladio’s casual caresses of Noct’s belly and thighs while stripping him, and that hardness gets trapped between their stomachs as Gladio carries Noct to bed. Gladio loves the warm, solid weight of his Prince, loves his muscles that bunch and roll underneath his pale skin, loves the scars along his back which he only trusts three people in the whole wide world to see.

They make it to the bedroom and Gladio sits on the edge of the massive bed, hesitating. He runs a calloused palm down the length of Noct’s back before resting it on the curve of Noct’s ass, giving it a light squeeze.

“What do you want, Noct?” Gladio asks. He can’t help the low rumble his voice drops to, can’t disguise the desire laced through the question.

“I want you inside me. Please,” Noct whispers against Gladio’s skin, and that’s all the direction Gladio needs.

He gets the lube, slicks up his hand, works Noct open with careful, pleasant fingers. Gladio loves this part almost as much—maybe more than—the sex itself. Noct clings to him, arms wrapped around his neck and ankles locked behind his waist, moaning each time Gladio brushes a fingertip against that sweet spot deep inside him. Both of them are leaking precome everywhere, but Gladio takes his time, savouring the intimacy while making sure Noct is nice and relaxed.

Sometimes Noct gets impatient and rides him right on the edge of the bed, rides him until they’re both groaning and bellowing and coming all over each other. Other times Gladio gets down on his hands and knees for his Prince, letting Noct take him hard and fast from behind because that’s what they both need in the moment.

Tonight, Gladio barely has to move them. He shifts on the bed and lays Noct down on his back, his arms and legs still wrapped around Gladio. Gladio reaches a hand down and guides himself into Noct, kisses Noct as he pushes past the tight ring of muscle in slow, shallow thrusts, moans into Noct’s mouth as he bottoms out.

Gladio can read Noct almost as well as Ignis at this point, knows how far he can push Noct until he tips over the edge. He rides that edge tonight, tamping down on his own pleasure, the pleasure of being buried completely inside his Prince, of giving him exactly what he needs. It takes less time than Gladio thinks for Noct to start crying out beneath him. Noct brings one of his hands between his legs and starts to stroke himself in time with Gladio’s thrusts, his pretty pink lips parted and cheeks flushed.

Gladio’s covered in sweat at this point but lowers his forehead to Noct’s anyway, starts to snap his hips up harder since he knows Noct’s close. Gladio’s own pleasure tugs behind his navel, waiting for his Prince to find his release first.

“C’mon, it’s okay, I got you… I got you,” Gladio pants, and the words seem to be enough for Noct.

“Gladio, _Gladio_ , oh Gods, _nnngh_ —” Noct’s words falter as his body shudders and trembles, his muscles clenching around Gladio. He keeps moaning as Gladio thrusts in and out of him through the smaller aftershocks of his orgasm.

Gladio gives in to the heat that’s pooled low in his groin and follows behind Noct, nonsense spilling from his lips as he pulls Noct close. Gladio loves being able to come inside his Prince, loves being able to bury his nose in Noct’s sweat-damp hair until his own body stops shaking, loves every bit of his Prince with every bit of himself.

He feels compelled to say it out loud tonight. “You know I love you, right.” Gladio can’t quite make it into a question as he lays beside Noct, stroking his back, procrastinating on the cleanup they both need.

“Love you back,” Noct says, looking up at Gladio through long eyelashes and lidded eyes. Gladio presses a kiss to Noct’s temple and smiles. They probably don’t say it out loud often enough, but it doesn’t stop either of them from knowing its true.

Even Gladio’s feeling lazy and content now. It’s a struggle to get up and get a damp towel, but he does. They’ll need a shower in the morning, but for now, they’re clean enough.

Sometimes Noct likes to curl up on the opposite side of the bed to sleep, wrapping himself in a cocoon of blankets. Tonight he stays tucked under Gladio’s arm and pressed flush against his body.

Only when Noct’s breathing evens out, when his lips part ever so slightly, does Gladio close his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated if you feel up to it. <3


	5. Tipsy - OT4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis agrees to stay sober, but saying good night proves more difficult than he expects.

“Gladio, stop hogging Specssssss. We wanna say goodnight too,” Noct says, his tipsiness slurring Ignis’s nickname into a susurrus of consonants.

Ignis agrees that Gladio might be monopolizing his time, but the open mouthed kisses Gladio places up the length of his neck make him not mind terribly much. The combination of Gladio forming a seal with his lips over a particularly sensitive spot and applying just the right amount of pressure sends a stab of pleasure through Ignis’s core.

“Gladiolus,” Ignis says in warning, though his head tilts back of its own volition to allow Gladio better access, “In case you’ve forgotten, I agreed to sobriety this evening out of necessity, the same reason that precludes me staying.”

“Was hoping to change your mind,” Gladio rumbles against Ignis’s collarbone, his hands dipping down to cup Ignis’s backside with a daring squeeze.

“ _Gladiolus_.” Sharper now, though Ignis can’t quite keep the fondness from his name.

“Night, Iggy,” Gladio says. One amused snicker later, he pulls away, but not before raking a hand through Ignis’s hair and decimating its stiff peak.

Noct’s there before Ignis can take a single step towards the apartment door. Noct’s kisses are as disheveled as he is, more tongue than lips with a lingering taste of fruity alcohol, but Ignis finds himself falling into them all the same. Noct sways on his feet as he grips the front of Ignis’s dress shirt with both hands, hard enough to separate a few buttons at the top.

“Specs,” Noct mumbles again after breaking the kiss, nestling his face in the exposed triangle of skin on Ignis’s chest. A sharp prick of teeth follows, eliciting a gasp from Ignis and quiet laugh from Noctis.

Ignis threads his gloved fingers through Noct’s hair and pulls him away. “That’s quite enough, _Your Highness_.” Noctis’s lower lip juts out in a pout, a pout that disappears once Ignis drops a kiss on the top of his midnight hair.

“Don’t be long,” Noct says in Gladio and Prompto’s direction as he wanders off towards the bedroom.

“Prompto?” Ignis asks, knowing he prefers to be given the choice.

With a bright smile and minimal unsteadiness, Prompto crosses the distance to Ignis and winds his arms around his neck. Ignis uses one hand to press against the small of Prompto’s back, pulling him close, and cradles the back of his head with the other.

“Good niiiiiiight, Igs. Looooove you,” Prompto says. He giggles and leans more of his weight on Ignis, tipping his face upwards and pursing his lips in a less-than-subtle hint.

Ignis does kiss him then, chaste and sweet. Prompto steals another kiss after that, and another, each one with increasingly bold sweeps of tongue, until Ignis laughs and performs a gentle extrication of his limbs from Prompto’s.

Once Prompto follows the other two into the bedroom, Ignis lets out a soft sigh. He wants to stay, but seven in the morning is just around the corner. He’s only a quarter of the way to the door when he hears a low, bass moan that can only belong to Gladio.

“Specccccccccs,” Noct calls, “You sure you don’t wanna stay? Gladio’s already naked.”

“So am I!” Prompto adds cheerfully.

Ignis freezes mid-step. His internal debate rages for a fierce sixty seconds before he turns back towards the bedroom. Ignis comes to a standstill as he reaches the doorway. The sight that awaits him sparks three occurrences simultaneously: his mouth goes dry, his resolve crumbles, and his blood rushes south.

“I will brook _no_ argument from _any_ of you about my alarm in the morning,” Ignis says, the words less stern that he had intended. He enters the bedroom and closes the door behind him.


	6. those ain't your bodyguards - Gladnoct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio and Noctis have a conversation after Cartanica.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [based off of this amazing comic](http://hanatsuki89.tumblr.com/post/175090916018/those-aint-your-bodyguards-theyre-your) by the wonderfully talented hanatsuki89—please go show them some love [on Tumblr](http://hanatsuki89.tumblr.com/) or [on Twitter](https://twitter.com/Hanatsuki89) when you have a chance!

The gentle crackle of the campfire, a sound he associates with peace and comfort, does nothing to soothe Gladio’s nerves tonight.

Not that there’s much to soothe. He’s gone right past ‘stressed’ to a feeling he doesn’t think he knows a word for, and he’s got a pretty expansive vocabulary. Maybe Iggy would be able to nail it down.

Then Gladio remembers, in an icy burst of clarity, how much Iggy’s suffering too. (How could he have forgotten, even for a moment? He’d been so quick to throw it in Noct’s face.) They’re all blind in different ways, stumbling towards a goal they barely know how to reach, broken and limping and raw. 

Everything’s gone to shit. Everything’s gone to shit and Gladio has no idea how to fix it.

Especially Noct.

Noct’s sitting outside too, just on the other side of the campfire, but it feels like he’s across a daemon-filled chasm a hundred miles wide. Gladio can’t look at him too long. When he does, pressure starts to build in his chest, threatening to burst like one of Lestallum’s steam valves, a hissing roil of emotions that Gladio struggles to contain.

There’s anger still—the same anger that ruptured in messy, heated words on the train before Cartanica—but more than that, there’s… guilt. Love. Shame. Grief.

Hurt, if he had to narrow it down. It hurts. He doesn’t regret what he said to Noct, but he regrets _how_ he said it. Neither of them came off that ride with clean hands. But Gladio wishes—and it’s a stupid wish, because he knows the meaning of duty, knows better than to want impossible things—that for once, he could be the one to tell Noct what he wants to hear instead of what he needs to hear. 

But it doesn’t stop him from thinking.

Gladio finds failure in each thought that drifts to the front of his mind: the Oracle’s death, Iggy’s injury, Noct’s recalcitrance. He closes his eyes, blacking out both the glowing runes of the haven and the smattering of stars in a sky gone dark too soon. Closing his eyes does nothing to dismiss the images that haunt him; he still sees that stupid fucking pillar of golden light taunting him from across Altissia, Ignis’s scarred face and milky eyes, Noct’s slumped and silent back shutting him out. 

Some Shield he is. He’s supposed to be holding it together—holding them together—but it seems like all he’s done is rip them apart. Gladio, tired of fending off the echoes of his shortcomings, opens his eyes. He stares off into the distance, staring at nothing, thinking of nothing, feeling too much.

“Say, Gladio…”

He hears Noct speak. The words are a too-soft knock on a door, unregistered over the clamour of Gladio’s thoughts.

“Gladio?” Noct’s question comes out stronger, louder, loud enough to get Gladio’s attention.

“Mh?” Gladio sticks with a vocalization. Words are dangerous. He can’t seem to find the right ones anymore, not like he used to. 

He shoves down his cowardice to look at Noct, meeting his eyes across the flickering interplay of light and shadow the campfire creates. What Gladio finds in Noct’s gaze sinks a hook in his soul and drags it straight up through his throat.

Gladio’s been so focused on Noct, the king, that he forgot about Noct, the person, somewhere along the way. The young man who’s lost as much (or more) as Gladio, the prince he swore his life to, who he promised to protect no matter what. Noct’s eyes are wide and hold a liquid shimmer as they seek out Gladio’s; though the darkness washes the blue from his irises, Gladio can recall the colour by heart, filling in the gap with his memory.

“I can’t do this without you.”

The crack in Noct’s voice creates a twin rift in Gladio’s heart. His words are another truth Gladio has misplaced as the world crashes down around them: Eos might need Noct, but Noct needs them. Needs _Gladio_.

And he’s clearly hurting too. Gladio tries to speak but finds his voice faltering. _Six_ , he doesn’t want to fuck this up, not with Noct so clearly on the verge of fracture. Not with his own spirit so close to shattering.

Words are dangerous. Sometimes, they aren’t enough.

Gladio stands from his camp chair and spreads his hands, palms up, in a silent invitation. The offer is there—the offer of safety, of comfort, of a safe space to fall apart in Gladio’s arms—but it’s up to Noct to take it. Gladio won’t try to force his hand. Not anymore.

There’s a scrape of boots on gravel followed by the noisy clatter of a camp chair tipping over. Noct crosses the schism between them and throws his arms around Gladio. His body shakes with the effort of crying as he clutches at Gladio’s shoulders, his hands fisting in the leather of Gladio’s jacket.

Gladio bends down, wraps his arms around Noct’s back, and holds him close. All he’s ever tried to do is protect him—from harm, whatever form it takes—but there are some things he can’t shield Noct from no matter how hard he tries. All Gladio can do is be there for him as he weathers his grief… as they weather _their_ grief... and help put him back together when the storm subsides.

Noct’s sobs turn from silent spasms to ugly, gut-wrenching affairs, and then Gladio’s crying too. He’s clinging to Noct as much as Noct’s clinging to him, tears scorching a path down his cheeks to land in the flattened plaits of Noct’s hair. Gladio runs his hands up and down Noct’s back, trying his best to comfort him even as his own heartache breaches the walls he’s quarantined it behind.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that. Frankly, he doesn’t care.

“I just… please... tell me you’ve got my back.” Noct’s words are spaced out between hiccupy gasps, his face buried in Gladio’s jacket, chest heaving as he sucks in long, stuttering breaths.

“Always,” Gladio says, voice thick, one hand stroking Noct’s hair as gently as a breeze. “I promise. I swear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated if you enjoyed! <3


	7. Yuletide - Ignyx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis and Nyx have a holiday encounter. (Canon compliant.)

No one other than Nyx seems to notice the way the giant Yuletide star sways atop the even more gigantic Yuletide tree. More importantly, the Prince’s chamberlain doesn’t seem to notice it, and he’s the one occupying the space where the massive, teetering ornament would likely land.

Nyx’s guard post by the main doors means he’s too far away to call out a warning, so after checking that Drautos–or Luche, that snitch–is nowhere to be found, he heads towards Scientia. Citadel staff bustle and weave through the ballroom, making it more like an obstacle course than a dance floor.

As Nyx approaches, he gropes for the proper form of address. Advisor Scientia? No, wait, wasn’t he just inducted into the Crownsguard? Crownsguardsman Scientia? For how much time he’s spent staring at him when they cross paths, he has no idea. Nyx considers doing away with the propriety altogether when the burnished gold star lurches atop the tree.

“Scientia!”

Scientia whips around, eyes wide behind his glasses and a metallic blue string of tinsel hanging from his hands. His gaze flicks up to the ornament, but it’s already too late–the star slides off and careens towards the ground. Scientia stands rooted to the spot with his lips parted in shock.

Crap. Guess it’s time to damage some property and abuse the royal Lucian magic.

Nyx flings a kukri at a crate of decorations a few feet away from Ignis. He warps as soon as he hears the thunk of blade piercing wood; the world fades and reappears in a violent blossom of sound and colour. Nyx grabs for Scientia, taking hold of a fistful of silk vest and yanking him backwards. The unexpected weight of him throws Nyx off balance and sends the pair toppling to the ground in a painful tangle of limbs, the star following them not two seconds afterwards. A thunderous crash sounds as the star hits the floor and shatters into a million pieces.

“You alright?” Nyx gets to his feet before Ignis does and offers him a hand.

“Yes,” Ignis replies, reaching up to take the offered assistance. Damn, he’s even more handsome close up, and the embarrassed flush as he brushes dirt off his slacks doesn’t hurt. “I owe you my thanks. I didn’t realize…”

“Don’t sweat it. Gotta keep earning the Hero nickname somehow.” Nyx winks and earns the barest of smiles in return from Scientia.

“Yes, I suppose you do have a reputation to uphold.” Ignis pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose before picking the abandoned tinsel off the floor. “And I suppose I should get back to work.”

“Yeah. Say, Scientia…” Nyx begins, “you got any plans this weekend? Before you answer, keep in mind I might have just saved your life.”

Six. Astrals. He’s lost his whole entire mind.

Before Scientia answers, a staff member hurries up to him and takes hold of his arm, firing off questions faster than the new kid he’s seen at the shooting range can fire off rounds. With an apologetic smile in Nyx’s direction, Scientia allows himself to be lead away from Nyx and the shattered ornament.

So much for that plan.

Later, once Nyx’s shift ends and he’s back home, his phone buzzes on the coffee table. When he swipes to see the incoming message his jaw nearly unhinges.

**[20-7561-1092 23:13]** This is Ignis Scientia - my apologies that we were interrupted earlier. I was wondering if you would consider a round of drinks this weekend sufficient thanks for your heroism.

How did this guy even get his number? Nah, you know what, never mind. Nyx laughs and begins to type his response.

**[N. Ulric 23:16]** i guess it’ll do. (;


	8. Just Like Dreaming - Gladnoct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's just like falling asleep. (Canon compliant.)

Inhale.

A last breath should feel more monumental than this, a shuddering gasp of air into struggling lungs. Gladio’s borne so many burdens for so long, has set them down (or had them taken from him) one by one across the years, starting with his title as Shield and ending with life. Life proves the most stubborn, difficult one to release, autonomous and possessed of a will to persist, pleading to outstay its welcome.

Gladio’s lived long enough.

Eyes closed.

His memories are curvaceous explorations of time rather than linear concepts, winding paths of ‘what if’ mixed with factual history full of hope and heartache. There’s been love along with the life he has to let go, but none as deep as the first one, a puddle compared to an ocean the colour of his first love’s eyes. Reality has no place here at the end—death only calcifies in the hearts of those left alive to witness it.

Gladio chooses fantasy for his final moments.

Exhale.

It’s just like falling asleep.

Eyes open.

Gone are the sterile white walls and wilting flowers of the hospital. Gladio wears the body from his memories—younger, broader, brighter—and stands at the end of a pier. The wooden dock stretches out before him, leading to the middle of a crystal clear lake, its waters stirred by a passing breeze. He would know the figure standing at the end of it in every lifetime, has poured over photographs for six decades so he didn’t forget the face, a face that turns toward him now as the figure looks over his shoulder. He’s young again too, wearing the guise of the prince Gladio fell in love with and not the king he couldn’t save.

“Gladio! You made it!”

A thump as a fishing rod hits the ground, heavy footfalls as he races down the dock. Mused black hair whipping in the same air that he leaps through. The solid weight as Gladio catches him.

Inhale.

It’s just like dreaming.


	9. Amicitia Construction Ltd. - Gladnis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis' commute to work takes a turn for the... something. (Modern AU.)

A long, low whistle stops Ignis dead in his tracks. He’s standing stone still in the middle of the sidewalk, sun beating down on the black wool of his suit, when the inevitable follow up to the whistle occurs.

“Lookin’ good, gorgeous.”

When Ignis jerks his head towards the source of the… catcall, Good Lord… anger starts to rise in his chest, inevitable as high tide. A massive behemoth of a man leans against a hastily erected fence cordoning off the construction site Ignis passes on his way to work. His bare, heavily tattooed (and pleasantly muscular, but no, Ignis musn’t give him undue credit) arms are folded across his stained, orange construction vest. He holds himself like he knows exactly how attractive most people find him, and his grin suggests Ignis should be enjoying this exchange.

He has another thing coming.

Ignis storms over to the fence, whipping off his Armani sunglasses as fast as he dares before hooking them on the breast pocket of his suit. This only makes the man’s grin wider and Ignis’s anger hotter.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” Ignis spits.

The man has the audacity to laugh instead of responding with any sort of apology or explanation. Had he not been harassed in the street not moments prior, Ignis might find the laugh attractive—it’s rich and deep, a resonant sound that cuts through the din of the construction site—but as matters stand, Ignis borders on furious.

“Why on earth are you laughing? What you’ve just done is tantamount to sexual assault. I could report this,” Ignis continues, the words coming out in an angry hiss.

The stranger holds up his arms in surrender as he continues to chuckle. It’s only now that Ignis realizes how much larger the man is than him—Ignis stands at just over six feet in dress shoes, but the construction worker has nearly a head of height and fifty pounds of pure muscle on Ignis, or so Ignis spectulates now that he’s close enough to compare.

“Shit, man, take it easy. You’re the one who’s been staring my ass down Monday to Friday for the past month. Thought I’d take a chance.”

“I’ve done no such thing! I’ve never seen you before in my life!” Ignis protests.

“Really?” the man asks, and the look in his (glittering, rich, no, stop it Ignis, he’s a troglodyte) amber eyes turns even more amused. “Last week you tripped over a pylon when you were busy doing a double take in the direction of yours truly.” The way he sweeps one gigantic, dirt-caked hand along his body makes Ignis want to throttle him.

Or… does it? Bloody hell. As Ignis shoves aside his anger to think back to the previous week, he realizes the man is right. Except… oh, goddamn it. The would-be catcaller was in an impeccably tailored pinstripe suit and a hard hat when Ignis last saw him, an elegant braid of dark brown hair spilling down between his shoulder blades, and Ignis had stared.

“Ah, there it is. Knew you seemed like a smart guy,” the brick house of a man says, smirking. He reaches in one of the inner pockets of his vest and produces a business card. “Name’s Gladio Amicitia, proud owner of Amicitia Construction, and not opposed to putting in some elbow grease myself when the job calls for it.”

There’s no way Ignis is coming out of this with all of his pride in tact. He debates walking away and leaving Gladio standing there like the prat he is, but something gives him pause.

“What makes you think I’d be interested in ever speaking to you again?” Ignis asks. The only way he hits the cool, arrogant tone he’s aiming for is by imagining he’s dressing down a difficult client.

“Call it a hunch,” Gladio says, wiggling the business card inches from Ignis’s face.

Ignis snatches the card out of Gladio’s hand. He takes a deep breath before retrieving his sunglasses and settling them back on his face; he tells himself it’s because the bright morning sunlight hurts his eyes and not because Gladio has rattled him.

“I can’t wait,” Ignis drawls, “to run through this through the shredder.” He flaps the business card in Gladio’s direction for emphasis. Ignis turns on one heel, draws up to his full height, and begins to power walk away from the construction site.

He can hear Gladio’s booming laugh behind him. “When you get bored of spending other people’s money and drinking alone, handsome, call me.”

Ignis grits his teeth and walks faster. The exertion causes sweat to collect underneath his suit—he’s going to have to visit the washroom and clean up before he can get his day started. He speeds through two blocks before his anger dies down to a manageable level, the combination of wounded pride and embarrassment forming a lump in his throat.

Just before he reaches his building, he takes a closer look at the business card, turning it back and forth in his hand. There’s two sooty fingerprints where Gladio’s thumb and forefinger gripped it, but true to his word, there are three words in gilded, beveled text in the centre of the card: Amicitia Construction Ltd. Further contact details are outlined below the company name.

Ignis should toss it aside, littering be damned. He should follow through on his threat and run it through an industrial shredder like it deserves.

Instead, Ignis tucks the card in the inner pocket of his suit jacket, hoping with a grimace that it doesn’t stain the silk.

Resolved to deal with the offending scrap of paper later, he walks through the revolving doors of the Lucis Caelum Financial Centre and begins his day in earnest.


	10. Avoidance - IgNyx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis tries to stay away from Nyx... and fails. (Canon compliant.)

Ignis tilts his glass of scotch back and forth in his hand. There’s only enough left in the tumbler to tint the melted ice amber, but he knocks it back anyway—it’s been a long week. One drink has gotten him to close the Lucian government’s (horribly inefficient) e-mail app on his phone, but it’s going to take him a few more to forget about it entirely.

The bartender bustles over in front of his stool and slides him an identical, full drink.

“Courtesy of your friend,” she says, pointing to a corner behind Ignis.

The last person Ignis expects to find when he glances over his shoulder is Nyx Ulric, wearing a wicked grin as Ignis makes eye contact and waving at him with a little waggle of his fingers.

Six. Nyx was the one who introduced him to this bar in the first place—quiet but clean, its location far enough from the main entertainment strip to avoid seeing any Citadel colleagues—so he should have expected he might encounter him here. However, it’s Friday night, which usually means Nyx is carousing in the Galahdian quarter if he’s off duty, so Ignis had thought it’d be a relatively safe bet.

Nothing to be done for it now, he supposes, rising from his high-backed stool and crossing the distance to Nyx’s table.

“All on your lonesome?” Nyx asks as soon as Ignis comes within earshot. He has his booted feet resting on one of the chairs at the table, arms and ankles crossed.

“Clearly,” Ignis says. He opts not to sit, choosing instead to rest a gloved hand on the back of the chair across from Nyx, the other cradling the bottom of his drink. “I came to thank you for the drink.”

“Huh,” Nyx hums thoughtfully, “that all? ‘Cause you could kick back and stay a while.” He waves one hand palm up across the table in an invitation.

“I’d best be going soon,” Ignis demures. He’s well aware of what typically happens when he spends time in Nyx’s company alone.

“Avoiding me, huh? I see how it is. Well, I’m not gonna chain you to the table or anything, yeah? Enjoy the drink.”

Ignis’s spine stiffens. “I haven’t been avoiding you. You know how packed my schedule is.”

“Mmmhmm,” Nyx says, polishing off his beer before continuing, “Taking the back entrance out of the Council meeting room when I’m on duty. Skipping out on our training sessions. Not answering my texts—”

A blush heats Ignis’s cheeks at the litany of accusations Nyx ticks off one by one. Fine, perhaps he has been avoiding Nyx, but only because their liaisons are becoming too enticing a distraction. Overcome with a sudden, fierce urge to prove a point, Ignis places his glass on the table before rounding it. When he reaches Nyx, he leans down and places his lips against Nyx’s ear.

“I’m not avoiding you now,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against Nyx’s stubbled jaw before withdrawing.

Nyx gets up from his chair so fast Ignis worries he’ll knock the chair over, his grin bright and his eyes dark. “Wanna forget about the drink and get the hell outta here?”

* * *

They don’t make it past the foyer of Ignis’s apartment before they’re both stripping out of their clothes, shoes and pants and shirts discarded at random, naked limbs tangled together. Nyx trails a series of wet, hot kisses up the column of Ignis’s throat, occasionally pausing to suck a mark into pale skin.

“Turn around,” Nyx purrs when he reaches Ignis’s ear, “and brace yourself against the wall.”

Ignis complies, his aching cock twitching at the directive. When he feels a slick finger teasing his entrance, he moans, his head dropping between his shoulders. Nyx begins to work his finger in and out of Ignis, tortuously slow, robbing Ignis of any reply except a hitched gasp.

“Knew you missed me, gorgeous.”


	11. Home With You - Gladnis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio and Ignis enjoy a date in Altissia. (Canon compliant.)

“Here, lemme top you up.”

Gladio picks up Ignis’s glass from the table. As much as Gladio prefers to eschew propriety, his Amicitia upbringing still peeks through from time to time. The graceful way he pours the correct amount of red wine into Ignis’s glass (and not one drop more) provides one such glimpse of his extensive etiquette training.

“If you’re hoping to inspire licentious behavior on my part by plying me with wine…” Ignis says, trailing off as Gladio hands the glass back to him. He takes a sip; despite being three glasses in, Ignis hasn’t lost his appreciation for its smooth, full body.

“I don’t need wine for that,” Gladio replies with a smirk. He lifts his own glass and clinks the rim against Ignis’s.

“True enough,” Ignis murmurs. He mentally blames the alcohol for the blush heating his cheeks.

They finish their meal in companionable silence. Despite all of the insanity that led them here to Altissia, there’s a certain charm pervading the evening. Ignis fears speaking might break the spell.

As always, Gladio seems to have access to his innermost thoughts.

“Doesn’t seem fair, does it? Sitting here wining and dining so far from home… or what’s left of it, anyway…” Gladio says, resting his chin on a fist and turning his gaze towards the canals.

It doesn’t. But Ignis has decided to focus on the things he still has rather than the things he’s lost. He adds the sudden surge of sentimentality welling up in his chest to the alcohol’s list of crimes.

“It doesn’t. But,” Ignis starts, reaching out and resting his fingertips on Gladio’s wrist, “when I’m with you, I am home.”

“Don’t get soft on me now, Iggy.”

But Gladio smiles as he says it, and Ignis can’t help but smile back. 


	12. Crow's Nest Confessions - Promnis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto and Ignis have a moment, thanks to a Justice Monsters 5 machine. (Canon compliant).

“May I join you?”

Prompto startles at the question, gripping the edges of the Justice Monsters 5 machine to keep from losing his balance. The last person he expects to join him in the Crow’s Nest is Ignis, and yet there he is.

“Oh, h-hey! Sorry, you kinda scared the crap out of me.” Prompto pauses as he registers the absence of Noct and Gladio. “Where’s the rest of the team?”

“Still bickering, I suspect. They’ll be along soon enough.” A tiny crease appears between Ignis’s eyes as he explains, which means it must be a shouting match of epic proportions.

“Ah, gotcha,” Prompto replies. “You can have the next game if you want. Want me to teach you how to play?”

“I believe I’ve absorbed most of the rules by osmosis,” Ignis starts, his lips twitching upward in a rare grin, “But do feel free to advise me as you see fit.”

“Advising the advisor, niiiice,” Prompto says, moving aside so that Ignis can begin a game.

After a few gory deaths at the start, Ignis begins to demolish the levels with alarming finesse. His face scrunches up in a way that Prompto finds… well, adorable, especially when combined with the triumphant glitter in his eyes when he beats another level.

Prompto cheers him on, hooping and hollering at the smallest of victories. It’s only when a balding, middle-aged hunter coughs and glares in their direction over a mug of coffee that he quiets down. Ignis brings a fist up to his lips and laughs behind it, the sound so soft and happy that Prompto’s heart jolts in his chest.

“I guess we are being rather silly for once,” Ignis murmurs. He looks so… amazing like this, smiling in the early morning light that streams through the diner windows, that Prompto can’t resist.

“Wanna double down on the silly?” Prompto asks with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“What did you have in mind?”

Prompto stands on his tiptoes and, before his courage can falter, kisses Ignis full on the lips. It’s a quick in-and-out affair, so fast that he barely has time to appreciate how nice it feels to kiss Ignis before it’s done.

“That. Yeah,” Prompto says. He’s blushing like crazy, only saved from certain embarrassment by Noct and Gladio approaching the diner. “Looks like we’re just about ready to head out!”

Ignis lays a gentle hand on his elbow. “Indeed. But, Prompto, one request…”

“Yeah?” The question comes out a half octave too high.

“Allow me to kiss you properly, next time.”


	13. Thrillseeker - CorNyx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyx has no sense of self preservation. (Set in the universe of [nothing gold can stay](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1078986).)

A single ripple of black silk, so infinitesimal a blink would swallow it whole, piques Nyx’s curiosity as he and Ignis walk past one of the Citadel’s many massive chambers.

Since the door’s wide open, Nyx figures the stranger doesn’t mind an audience, so he plants his body in the doorframe and watches. He’s seen a lot of fighting—the war with Niflheim didn’t end with peace talks, after all—but he’s never seen anyone dominate a field like the man inside: powerful lunges with a shimmering blade, strikes as fast as lightning, training dummies cut clean in half with zero wasted movement.

All while wearing a Six damned blindfold.

“Who’s that?” Nyx asks, not taking his eyes from the display in front of him.

“That’s, ah, the Immortal… sworn bodyguard of His Majesty and Sergeant Major of Lucis during The Great War,” Ignis explains, and the volatile edge to his usual nonplussed demeanor only makes Nyx that much more curious. “My recommendation would be to leave him to it and continue on our way.”

Well, well, well—underneath the healthy respect, Nyx detects an inkling of fear, and it’s enough to send him striding into the room, swathing himself in confidence like armor. As soon as he passes the midway point from his position to the Immortal’s, the man stops, and his onyx-covered gaze jabs Nyx in the chest with all the blunt force of a sucker punch. When Nyx unsheathes his kukris from his back, The Immortal tilts his head, a gesture Nyx would call inquisitive if he had anything to go on.

“Want a sparring partner?” Nyx asks, grinning with a mettle he fears may prove shallow if tested, twirling one kukri in an idle spin.

The longer he stands there, the more he sweats under the sightless regard; back home, they used to say that eyes are the window to the soul, and if Nyx accepts that logic, the man in front of him doesn’t have one at all. Nyx considers conjuring a bubble of slowed time and making his exit, but before he can, the Immortal speaks, his voice deep and glacial and ancient.

“Try to keep up.”


	14. Mess - Cor/Regis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cor and Regis can't keep meeting like this, but they do. (Canon compliant.)

Cor isn’t quite sure what’s making all the hair on his arms stand on end: Regis’ blunt nails scraping random patterns across his scalp, or the twitch of his warm cock against his lips.

He checked that the door was locked twice before pushing Regis back into his office chair, so it’s not the thrill of discovery. Anyway, it takes more than the possibility of a servant walking in on them to get Cor’s adrenaline going.

“Cor.” Regis turns his name into a throaty, quiet groan; a thick bead of precome dribbles from the tip of his cock alongside the sound, and Cor’s pulse finally starts to pick up.

He quite enjoys having Regis’ full attention, and the knowledge that he has it now sends a painful ache through his belly and groin. He’s hard and straining beneath the stiff fabric of his Crownsguard fatigues, but he’s been waiting all week for this, so he can wait a little longer.

As he begins to work Regis with his mouth, Cor glances up, drinking in the sight of his king with his head tipped back, lips parted, the soft lighting in the office casting dramatic shadows across his face. There’s something surprisingly erotic about the exposed hollow of his throat, tie and shirt loosened just enough to see the dip below Regis’ Adam’s apple. That’s all the admiring Cor has patience for, however, and he begins to use his tongue and hands in tandem, efficiently undoing Regis even as his own cock leaks copiously where it’s trapped in his pants.

As Regis gets closer and closer, Cor licks more and more salty droplets from the slit of his cock, his own face flushed with heat and desire both. Each stifled moan, each harsh exhale Regis gives makes Cor’s heart pound at his ribcage, makes him feel alive in a way few things do anymore.

“Look at me,” Regis commands, breathless with want but no less authoritative for it, and if Cor thought he felt alive before, it’s nothing compared to the way his blood scorches through his veins when he meets Regis’ eyes.

Cor takes his mouth from Regis’ cock with a wet, obscene noise. “What?” he asks, his own voice far too ragged for his liking.

“You know what. Come here.”

Two words—come here—shred the last vestiges of Cor’s composure.

He straddles Regis, thanking the Six for the sturdy chair, and four eager hands get his trousers and briefs out of the way. Regis holds their cocks together as Cor winds his arms around his king’s neck, panting as they rut and grind one another. Raw desire blots out any unwanted thoughts more effectively than drugs or sleep, and Cor feels no shame when he buries his face into the crook of Regis’ neck and moans, the sound muffled by cloth and skin alike.

Regis comes first, fingers digging into Cor’s waist as his release spills in a hot flood over Cor’s cock and his own hand. Painfully true to form, Cor follows closely after Regis, unleashing a string of swear words as his body spasms and jerks with the force of his climax, blissful relief flooding his limbs.

Cor’s in no particular hurry to move. He and Regis are both a mess, but they’re each other’s mess, and that’s enough.

It has to be.


	15. First Time - Aranea/Cor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aranea knows what she wants, and she intends to get it.

After 45 years on Eos, and nearly half of one spent in close proximity to Commodore Aranea Highwind, he should have anticipated the slow build of physical attraction, carefully partitioned in the name of duty—in the name of loyalty to Lucis.

Given his personal track record, he also should have predicted the persistent demand of that attraction, flaring low and hot in his abdomen with each graceful high jump or confident smirk; when it becomes too much, when the lid of the box threatens to spill open with all the moments shoved in it, he handles it the same way he always has, with his forehead resting against the cool tile of the shower wall, tension coiling his entire body as he takes his cock in hand and strokes himself to climax.

Last, but certainly not least, he should have expected Aranea to have plans of her own.

“You’re back early,” Cor says as Aranea enters the motel room that serves as his makeshift office, never taking his eyes from a stack of reports from Crownsguard agents across Lucis. “Was there a problem with the extraction?”

“Job’s done. Me and the boys did fine. I’m here for business of different sort.”

Cor snorts. “If it’s about the fuel supply for your ship, the answer hasn’t changed.”

The creak and rustle of Aranea’s armor has become a familiar sound, but the heavy thump—a thump that sounds suspiciously like her breastplate hitting the floor—finally draws his gaze. Aranea shimmies in place, peeling her leather trousers off with painstaking effort.

“Commodore,” Cor deadpans, ignoring the dizzying rush of blood and the way his cock is already stirring, “last time I checked, stripping isn’t required to deliver reports in Lucis.”

Aranea finally maneuvers out of her trousers and raises her hands to her chest, hands working at a clasp at the front of her bra, and removes that too, her bright green eyes never leaving Cor’s. “I’m tired of beating around the bush, _Marshal_. We can keep dancing around each other for the next six months, or we can just fuck, and personally, I’d prefer to get whatever this is out of our system.”

Cor wonders how long she’s planned this, wonders if she knew that making it a challenge is the surest way to make him rise to it. He stands and walks towards Aranea without making the conscious choice to do so, his eyes roving downward and drinking her in, from her full, heavy breasts to her strong, muscular thighs.

When he reaches the door, he towers over her, giving his best intense stare with all the years of practice behind it. “You assume too much.”

“Do I?” Aranea’s wicked grin flits down to the front of his pants, where the achingly hard line of his cock is visible beneath his uniform. “Tell me to go and I’ll go. I’m great at following orders... when I want to.”

The taunting breaks the last bit of resistance within him, overpowered by lust and the urge to see all of Aranea’s confidence dissolve in the throes of pleasure. He closes the gap between them until Aranea’s back is against the door, pinned by the press of their bodies, then bends down and kisses her, hard and fierce and fast. Aranea doesn’t miss a beat, licking at Cor’s lips until he yields and lets her probe his mouth in a wet, urgent kiss; this close, she smells of clean sweat and oiled leather and a hint of flowers, and it only spikes Cor’s arousal further. 

As they kiss, Cor takes one of Aranea’s breasts in his hand and gives it a firm squeeze, a low growl escaping the back of his throat. He can’t say for sure whether it’s the touch or the noise, but Aranea rolls her hips against his thigh and moans into the kiss, and Cor wants nothing more than to grab her, lift her up, and fuck her against the wall until those are the only noises she’s making.

He still might, but if there’s anything he’s learned in 45 years, it’s patience.

When they break apart, Aranea’s inhale is more gasp than breath, a quiet laugh following. “That’s the ticket,” she murmurs as Cor pinches her nipple between thumb and forefinger. From where she’s trapped beneath Cor, she manages to spread her thighs invitingly. “You’ve got two hands, _Marshal_.”

Cor skims a hand down Aranea’s taut stomach and snakes it beneath the waistband of her panties. When he slides a finger between her slick folds and teases at her clit, as she bucks into the touch, his only thought is that tonight, Aranea will learn exactly how capable those hands are.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me over on [Tumblr](http://aliatori.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/AliatoriEra).


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